


The Quality of Mercy (Is Most Definitely Strained)

by lost_spook



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Post Gauda Prime, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 12:46:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2812484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_spook/pseuds/lost_spook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of these days, he <i>will</i> kill her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Quality of Mercy (Is Most Definitely Strained)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Clocketpatch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clocketpatch/gifts).



> An odd little extra as a treat, but I hope you might like it.

At least once a week, sometimes more often, the Head of Security and Operations in the New Federated Republic leaves the sunlit corridors of power and goes down into the depths of the building to make love to his darker side.

Oh, he’s careful about it. Every time he visits the prisoner, he has the guards chain her up before he dismisses them.

“Avon,” she says, just the way she always did: stripped of titles and liberty and she still sounds like the cat that got the cream. “How good of you to come. I was almost beginning to miss you.”

She’s not as much changed as she should be – paler than ever and more drawn; the shadows under her eyes deeper than they used to be, but she’s not yet broken and there are few marks on her. He wouldn’t have that. The last thing he wants is for her to become an object of his pity.

“You,” he says, and strides forward to grip her neck in his hand. He could snap it if he chose. He could kill her easily.

She doesn’t protest, not by movement or by word. She smiles. It’s the last vestige of power she has left, and she uses it. He would expect nothing more or less of her. “You won’t do it,” she says, and only smiles again as he shoves her back against the wall. “Not today, I think, Avon.”

“One day I will.” He traces a finger across her cheek. “I’ll kill you. You deserve it.”

She looks past him, as if at a ghost or demon of her own. “One day you will,” she agrees. “But until then you need someone to blame, don’t you, Avon?”

“You _are_ to blame!” he growls. There are two people he blames for Blake’s death and with her alive he doesn’t need to contend with the other, not yet. She’s got to pay first.

She manages a shrug. “You never did understand. I always loved you, Avon.”

“You’ve never loved anyone in your life,” he says, and he despises her for it and admires her at the same time. He kisses her roughly. 

Servalan breathes more raggedly, responding to his closeness. “Very well,” she says, when he stops. “Say I understand you – better than your new friends with their ideals – or their petty unambitious schemes. There’s nothing there for you, is there? I’m your inner darkness, Avon, your true self. I don’t know what you would do without me. You’d have no one to… talk to.”

“Without you?” he says. “Anything I want!” He pulls away from her, letting her go. It’s always this way, that or he might hit her, nothing more. This way he tortures both the guilty parties at once. He with this – whatever this is – and her with the hope she tries to deny: that one day he’ll drag her out of here rather than let it end the way it must.

But it will end, he’s sworn it. One day soon, he will have to kill her.


End file.
